Stockholm Syndrome
by Goggles and Chocolate
Summary: Matt: junkie hacker. Mello: up-in-coming Mafia boss. An accidental encounter, sequestration, and violence, drugs, and booze later, is it Stockholm or Lima syndrome? Maybe neither. Maybe it's just real. CO-AUTHORING DLVVANZOR AND XXBEYONDXBIRTHDAYXX
1. Chapter 1

**_Note: _**_We're back! __No changes to the way things work, **Dlvvanzor** writes as Matt, and **xxbeyondxbirthdayxx** writes as Mello. No daily updates this time, although they should be regular ^^_**  
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><p><strong>Mello<strong>  
>I violently reopened the door, ripping it off its hinges for good this time, the wood flattening on the ground in a deafening sound, El Niño swipping aside to avoid receiving it on himself, looking at me with despair. Yes, I would have loved him to get it straight in the face. And he knew it.<p>

"Fix it." I spat, before going back to the main room.  
>So much for wanting to be alone for a much needed chocolate bar. My little treat and me weren't close to get some privacy at the moment.<p>

The man stopped at mid sigh under my glare, knowing all too well the message contained in those two words. Fix it in the next half hour or die a painful death.  
>Not that I'd really want to kill him, he's one of my best men, but still, he'd end up in a bloody puddle preferably in front of everyone here if he didn't complete the task, just for the example, nonetheless.<p>

El Niño wasn't exactly niño. He was the complete opposite, tall, large, hairy as a bear and strong as a bull, thus the ironic nickname he was given once in the Mafia. Actually, considering the guy's skills at destroying things and ripping people in two, the name of the famous climatic phenomenon suits him well. But I wouldn't expect much of the men here to be educated enough to know of the reference.

The rare people that had dared to express their thoughts about him being my right hand man because I was as skinny and short as he was huge got their heads blown off in no time.  
>I only used his physical strength because it was <em>funny<em>. And blood doesn't get off leather very well.

You'd never expect a spine snapping being so entertaining, would you?  
>Well, I do, among other things. There's not much I can find entertaining here anyway. I've seen too much in too little time not to be blasé.<p>

Some say I've got some temper, some anger issues. It's a myth I like to insinuate in my crew. Then, a simple glare, a light hiss, and my underlings are buzzing around me like bees in a hive to satisfy the king. No, not the queen. The last one that called me a fag... well, you know how the story ends.  
>I am easily angered, true. But I also have a self control that I polished over the years. I didn't get at that rank in the Mafia crying and kicking. Rod Ross, the Big Boss, hired me because I was the most cold blooded killer he's ever seen.<br>I can knife a baby without a blink. It can even stir a smile out of me. And the ugly man liked that, along with the fact I was sexy enough to satisfy his paedophile inclination. Visually that is, because even him wouldn't take a chance at displeasing me. He may be the boss but 1) he wouldn't risk losing me, I could turn against him and he knows it would be his end, 2) he would end up dead his dick ripped off his body and stuck in his mouth as a warning that I don't climb steps in the Mafia this way.  
>I got here at 15, and it took me six years to get where I am now. Consider it a very short time when most take a lifetime to do that.<p>

My men had fucked up. Really badly. They were supposed to clean a squat, nothing hard to do. A few junkies, street eyes for one of the rival branches, a few prostitutes, and some higher ranked men managing the whole stuff as well as spending some 'quality time' with the girls. The supposed warning ended up as a cleaning of my own team. Stupid brats had thought they had enough time to fuck around with the bitches before they were gone. And indeed, they were gone now.  
>Only El Niño came back, the only clever mind of the band. Well, probably not that clever since he came back to the hideout, blurting explanations about this total fuck up in my already irritated ears, handing out his life to me in that confession of a total fail.<p>

There was no man around at that moment so that's probably why I spared his life, playing the temper flare instead as I shouted my way to my room and slammed the door so viciously the hinges broke.  
>Because I had a reputation to maintain after all.<p>

But this fail was nothing. Nothing compared to the shit that El Niño brought up the next day, when he went back to the squat to finish the job and got talked by Lane, another one of my men, into pleasing me to make up for the previous day's fuck up.

I was sat on one of the couches in the main room, Rod Ross in his usual armchair like a king with an eye on his court, both of us heavily engaged in planning the next mission, that would probably level me into the Mafia boss' right hand position, the one I was coveting since I had joined the Mob, because then I would be one inch from being the boss myself, when the door opened and a very smiley Lane came proudly in followed by a line of girls obviously less pleased than him to be here, El Niño bringing on the rear with a sceptical expression painted on his square face.  
>The men that were scattered around the room, idling for most of them, left their card games or laptops to greet the prostitutes in a very physical manner, grunting in approbation for Lane's oh-so-great idea not to kill them all but bring some fresh meat in the hideout.<p>

Lane was some kind of newbie, but this wasn't an excuse. The girls screamed as I shot him dead.  
>El Niño shivered as my gun aimed at his forehead.<br>"Haven't you told him I don't touch that shit?" I hissed, fastening the security of my Beretta and shoving it back in my leather pants, the huge man exhaling unsteadily in relief.  
>"Of course I told him you don't do whores, boss, but he said you were like any man and wouldn't refuse a good fuck, especially if you can damage the girl as much as you want. I guess he hadn't grasped how much of a..."<br>El Niño stopped cold, realising he was about to pronounce the name I was given among the men, name that they thought I didn't know about. _Sick bastard_. I would have settled for something more glorious, but it was creepy enough to my likings.

Ross raised an eyebrow, his eyes looking back and forth from the special delivery to me, probably awaiting my reaction to what we both just spotted with a look as sceptical as El Niño, who was now shitting in his pants when he knew I had finally noticed what made him so nervous.

Once the men pushed and pulled the prostitutes out of my sight, landing on couches around or in their rooms for privacy, all that was left in front of me was a kid. A _male_kid.

A junkie, even. A dirty mop of red hair cut in a bowl, greasy and tangled, his skin so grey that he looked more than sick, he looked dead. Chapped lips, cheekbones standing out of a way too skinny face, dark circles under eyes which colour I couldn't even tell, not only because it was not really well lit up here, but they didn't hold any life.

The kid looked like an empty shell, and I suddenly wanted to shake him to hear if his bones would rattle inside.

He wore an evenly dirty striped shirt, torn at the collar, jeans that probably once were blue, and worn out sneakers. What the fuck? Duck-taped Converses. That said pretty much about this kid's situation. Like I needed my men to scrape the pavement and bring the dirt under their nails...

He reeked of cigarette smoke and weed but I suspected he was into more hardcore drugs, the veins on his hands wearing signs of needles holes and so blue and apparent that there was no being mistaken.  
>He was slightly shorter than me, or maybe it was because he was so hunched, I couldn't tell.<p>

I didn't feel like wasting a bullet on that trash but El Niño'd better have a good explanation for the presence of this bug in the hive because I could really use one for him right now.

"What's that?" I asked El Niño, pointing disgustingly at the redhead with my chin.  
>El Niño didn't have time to reply, the kid forestalled him.<p>

**Matt  
><strong>I didn't have any money, of course, but there was always at least one girl in my favorite cluster of whores who would let me get in a free squeeze or two.

Junkies and hookers have always just had that kind of symbiotic relationship, I guess. I'd toss them a spare joint and the occasional clean needle and they'd let me feel them up once in a while. They were used to selling their bodies; I was used to selling drugs. They wanted my product, I wanted theirs, but neither of us could afford the other, and so a trade. I supposed that made some kind of sense- trash has to stick together. If we won't look out for each other, who will? I often wondered if they'd let me fuck them if I actually brought them a decent portion of my good stash, but since it was never going to happen I tried not to fantasize about it too much. No use getting hard when I wouldn't be using it.

Of course, I could always accept sex as a payment for my drugs, but a large majority of my regular clientele was guys under fifteen and I couldn't find a way to get excited about that, outside of graciously accepting a blowjob if they were really hankering and didn't have the funds.

When the girls saw me coming, they looked slightly more cheerful than they had a moment before. Drugs will do that to a person, and since it was typical of me to come bearing joints on Wednesdays, they knew what was coming. I had a fresh batch that was particularly pure, and I was hoping one of them would let me finger them for it.

I shuffled over to them, making a mental note to cut back on the horse enough to get some new shoes, because my five-year-old Converse were starting to become more duct-tape than shoe. I'd had them since I'd run away and no one has ever accused Converse of being long-lasting. Maybe I'd get a job. I could start looking tomorrow.

"Hey, Candy," I said to the token blond of the group. She was my personal favorite, older and thin and wire and power and totally at peace with being the filthiest whore I knew, and I knew a lot of them. There was literally nothing she wouldn't do, and pretty much nothing she _hadn't_ done, often for less than a joint.

"Hi, sweetie," she greeted me warmly, voice gravel from a decade of multiple packs a day. "What do you have for us today?"

"I present you with the lady Mary Jane," I said grandly, taking a deep bow that made my head spin. Huh, I was dizzy. When was the last time I had eaten?

Flourishing as I straightened up, I presented her with the fat joint.

She smiled, all waxy red lipstick and blue eye shadow, and took it from my outstretched fingers, tucking it between well-displayed tits.

Then she grabbed my wrist and led it towards her skirt.

No ceremony, but that was Candy's way and I didn't have time to dawdle regardless; I was expected at the docks in an hour to sell some pot and then buy some of the good stuff. A smart drug dealer doesn't do the drug he deals. Much.

Then all of a sudden my world was metal and gunpowder and big sweaty guys. My first thought was 'cops,' and I told my legs to run, then remembered that I don't really run well. Anyway, if they had guns, escape probably wasn't an option.

It took me a few beats to realize that Candy and the others hadn't bolted, which they definitely would have if the guys in question were pigs. Some of them were puffing out, advertising the goods.

"Hey, honey, looking for a good time?" one of them called out. It sounded like Chastity.

"Yeah, but not for me."

"I don't think the boss wants-" a freakishly large guy started, but a small guy (small by comparison) interrupted him.

"He's a man, Tiny. Men like fucking. Even if he doesn't like whores, he's gonna like girls he can shred. Hey, you," he addressed Trish, a bitch who I didn't like anyway because she never let me see her famed third nipple.

"Yeah?" she answered warily.

"You're whores, right?"

Had it been someone who _wasn't _holding a gun, Trish would have given him her equally-famed raised eyebrow. Because, seriously? Duh. "Yessir."

"Good. All of you, get in the car." He added to 'Tiny,' "We'll take them all. See what the boss likes in a woman."

Trish opened her mouth to protest, but there was the gun thing again.

Candy was scared. Really scared. More scared than I'd ever seen her, which is why I knew I should be fucking _terrified_. Candy didn't get scared. Her fingers clamped down on my wrists painfully. I couldn't decide if she was protecting me from getting shot by running or dragging me into Hell with her.

Whatever her intention, I was ushered into the car with the rest of the hookers.

I hunched over where I sat, hoping it wouldn't become apparent that I had no boobs. Tiny was driving and the little guy was pointing a gun at us, and I had a feeling that the discovery of my true gender would be fatal. Trying to sink into the filthy, torn pleather seats, I squished in between Candy and another girl, who subtly shielded me a bit with their arms. They must have sensed it, too.

We all rode in silence for a while.

Despite the efforts of my prostitutes, it didn't take the man with the gun long to realize that I had some bits he didn't think I had and was missing the ones he liked.

"Wait a minute..." he said, narrowing his eyes.

"Don't shoot, I'm a hacker!" I blurted.

The eyebrows shot right back up. "...What?"

"I'm a hacker. I can break into computers and stuff. So you shouldn't kill me. Because I might be useful and stuff. Plus I know where to get drugs."

The guys exchanged considering glances. "He and Ross are planning their next job. Seems like a big one. Think they could use a techie?"

"Could always use a techie, Lane," the driver replied. "The boss shot the last one a while ago and we never found a replacement. That's assuming he's not lying to keep us from killing him."

"No, I definitely a hacker," I insisted. "I can hack into anything. Just show me something and I'll hack right into it. Hack, hack, hack." I laughed nervously.

Now their faces weren't considering anymore, just confused, and I'd possibly blown my chance.

"You willing to prove it at gunpoint?" Tiny asked.

"Sure."

"You high, jackass?" demanded Lane.

"A little."

Lane, scratching his head with the barrel of his gun, shrugged and put the safety back on with a click. "Waste of a bullet. Might as well let him prove himself. The boss would get a kick outta shooting him if he's lying. Fucking hates junkies."

Now that I wasn't going to be blown away in the next few minutes, I sighed into my seat. Holy shit, that had been close. Also, fuck, I didn't have anything on me and I had no idea how long this confrontation was going to take. I might miss my appointments at the dock.

Half an hour or so later, they shoved us into a cement room where a man and a woman were sitting, discussing something serious and ignoring the other people in the room.

When we walked in, led by Lane and prodded harshly on by Tiny, the woman looked up, a dangerous sneer coming to her lips. I froze in my tracks.

It didn't matter, though, because suddenly Lane was dead and the girls and I screamed bloody murder. Next the gun was to Tiny's forehead. "Haven't you told him I don't touch that shit?"

Oh. So the scary one was a dude.

The scary one was a dude and Tiny was putty, quivering putty, in front of him. The dude fucking looked like a lady and yet this mountain was reduced to nothing just by his pointing a gun. It looked like Tiny had absolutely no doubt that his life could end right here, right now.

Whoever the blond with the gun was, he was very much in control and very much aware of it. And liked it. He widened his eyes a little and tilted his head, smiling, and shoved his gun into his pants, right in front. That's courage, man.

"Of course I told him you don't do whores, boss, but he said you were like any man and wouldn't refuse a good fuck, especially if you can damage the girl as much as you want. I guess he hadn't grasped how much of a..."

Tiny stopped dead, and a long moment of silence passed between them that meant nothing to me. I don't think Tiny breathed once, and I don't think the crazy one _blinked_ once, just giving him a challenging, wide-eyed glare.

Eventually, the other men floating around the room came and grabbed a hooker or two each, a small greasy one pulling Candy away.

Leaving me in the room with just the huge guy, the crazy psychotic blond who was still staring, and the man in the armchair.

When I was the only one left, the three sets of eyes turned to me. Everyone was looking, but the only person I was aware of was Crazy Fuck. As much as I would have liked to, I couldn't look away from the liquid ice.

"What's that?" he said to Tiny, gesturing with his chin at me.

The disgust in his voice was warranted, but unwelcome.

The huge guy opened his mouth, but I answered before he could, fearing that whatever he said could get me turned into a Lane.

"I'm the new hacker."


	2. Chapter 2

**Mello**  
>For someone in his position, the kid sure had guts.<br>I was pretty sure he had already processed that his life was dancing on my palm, and if I hadn't been really interested in a hacker, I would have crushed it already.  
>Ross was too busy with a brunette that obviously had located the boss and straddled her way to a secure position. Like if being the boss' pet would save her ass. If anything, she'd buy herself a one way ticket to the coffin.<br>If Ross didn't finish her with one of his many sick sex games (the old fart was almost as bad as me in the domain), she'd be shredded to pieces by the other girls for the spot.

Seemed I would have to solve the junkie's case alone since Ross was unable to talk with his tongue buried in the brunette's cleavage.

I turned back to the kid who was still staring at me, or was he high as fuck, I couldn't tell, he could as well have been looking through me with that expression that held something of a fish agonising on a grocery store's display.

It seemed that the energy required to introduce himself as the new hacker had emptied his batteries, because he was now obviously spacing out.  
>No. It wasn't that. He was coming down from his high. I had seen it often enough to recognise it. I snapped my fingers before his nose, startling him. The fucking kid giggled.<p>

"Sorry man, I..."  
>El Niño almost sent the redhead to the floor as he nudged him to shut him up, catching him up just in time and pulling him straight up again.<br>"At least there's a smart one between you two." I sighed, patting El Niño's cheek before sending my coldest glare to the kid, turning to face him, too close for his comfort, enough for my entertainment.  
>He was coming down but not enough for the fear not to show on his features.<br>He swallowed with difficulty, his eyes widening. Blue. They were blue.  
>His lips quivered slightly, and he took a step backward.<p>

I didn't let him complete the movement though, gripping his shirt and bringing him even closer with slow movements, snarling. He would have wetted his pants that I wouldn't have been surprised at that point.  
>I made a duty of inspecting his features like a vulgar piece of meat, still holding him. Then I threw him to the floor, and it was as easy as throwing a toothpick. This guy really needed to eat.<p>

"New hacker... hmm. And what makes you think we need your skills, if you have skills to begin with?" I asked, going back to sit on the couch.  
>El Niño pulled the kid back on his feet, but he didn't dare to move further on his own.<br>"Answer!" I growled, "You've made it alive so far, consider yourself lucky I'm in a good mood. But don't push it."

"I... they said you needed a techie so I thought you could use me... I mean, my skills." the junkie stared hard at the floor, probably too scared to look at me. Mmh... love that.  
>"First thing if you want to last more than ten minutes here, don't think. There's only one brain here and it's me. But you're right on one point," I said, gesturing to El Niño to bring the redhead closer, "I <em>will<em> use you."  
>I smirked at his decomposing face. He <em>knew<em>it wasn't a light statement. Good kid, finally understanding who he was talking to.

I glanced at Ross who was still squeezing tits, not even interested to the slightest in the brat. He vaguely looked at me, probably feeling my eyes on him, but I knew with the half crooked smile he sent me that he trusted me to solve the matter in whatever way I wanted. The power of boobs... turning a Mafia boss to a kid looking at a candy store.  
>Ah... I wouldn't deny I liked playing with women's attributes, I had had my fair share of fucks here, girls came and went like a regular supply for the men, and I always kept the prettiest for myself once Ross had made his choice, but still, it had never gone in the way of my judgement.<p>

"Sit." I commanded, yanking the supposed hacker's arm to have his ass greet the dirty carpet. Know your place kid.  
>"So, you're a hacker." It wasn't a question. I bent to catch the laptop I was using minutes ago to bring it to the kid's eye level. He looked at me, then at the screen, and something happened in his eyes, like a fucking light coming out of nowhere.<br>I leaned back in the couch, making myself comfortable. "Here you go. Sandman's security system, twenty three cameras, and an infrared security line around the saves. You get in there, you get in here."  
>The kid barely took his eyes off the screen, and already typing, he asked: "How much time?"<br>"I'll shoot you when I consider it's taking too long."

Sat crisscrossed beside the coffee table, the junkie was typing frantically, not even disturbed by my persistent stare. At that point, I believe he wasn't even aware of his surroundings. I could however see his jaw twitch more and more often. After something like ten minutes he fished something in his rear pocket, earning him the barrel of my gun on the temple.  
>"Easy, Sir, I just need a smoke." he said, holding his twenty pack, hands up in a peace offering.<br>I huffed and put my Beretta back in my pants. Yes, I can sit with a gun down my front, shut up.

"Someone already broke into the security system." the guy stated after a while, looking at me in expectancy.  
>"I know. Took you long enough to figure it out." I was inspecting my nails in a bored fashion, but I was actually mentally noting that he had made it in seventeen minutes, when I had needed thirty-two.<br>"You know?" his cigarette was dangling from his lips, and I thought he was about to swallow it.  
>I smirked. "Did<em> I<em> say I needed a techie?"  
>"Wha... Man, Sir, What?" He dragged on his cigarette so deeply that he began to spit his lungs out.<p>

Playing mind games put me in a good mood so I patiently waited that he could breathe again.  
>"The whole circuit is already under control. Did they tell you what happened to the last hacker we had here?" I crossed my legs, finally looking at him.<br>"Th... they said you shot him." he whispered, averting his eyes from mine.  
>"Right. Why fucking have a hacker in here if I can do the job?"<br>Oh, the look in his eyes. Delightful.

"Go on." I gestured to the laptop.  
>The kid looked at me in disbelief and went back to the screen.<br>Of course I had already broken into the system, I was a fucking genius.

Glancing at the computer's clock, I waited. It was going to be long and I knew it.  
>Time passed, I stood up several times, walking around the room, sipping coffee... at some point I even stole a cigarette to the junkie, who, even if he looked at me from the corner of his eyes, never protested. Like he could...<p>

He was getting more and more nervous, swears escaping him from time to time. Pressure much?

Two hours and twenty one minutes.  
>"Guess you're not that good." I spat, making the hacker start at the sound of my gun's security being pulled off.<br>Two hours and nineteen minutes was what I had needed to deactivate the infrared system. I wouldn't wait any longer.  
>"Just three more minutes, I'm charging the files and I'm done!" The kid panicked.<br>Files?

Holy shit, the kid was good.  
>He lit up a smoke, silent, staring at me. At that point, I guess he didn't dare say a word, but he had control of the infrared lines, accessed the technical archives at Sandman's and obtained the codes of the saves. All of them. When it had taken me two hours and nineteen minutes to deactivate the infrared system only. And probably twice the same amount of time to get those codes.<p>

"You're in." I said. I could do the job, but he was faster. A _lot_ faster. Plus I wasn't fond of anything computer related and I had other focuses here in the Mafia that already ate a lot of my time.  
>"I thought you didn't need a hacker." he stated blankly, not understanding but obviously relieved. He was paler than before, if possible, and I could see the hair on his nape sticky with sweat although it wasn't particularly hot in here.<br>"I don't, but I always keep my word." Huh, like I would admit it in front of the kid that he was better than me at this.

I didn't have time to think about what I'd do with the guy further than that, because he started to become really nervous, and cigarettes didn't seem to be enough anymore. The kid needed his fix, obviously.  
>Damn, like I needed such crap in my paws.<br>I grabbed his chin to look at him since he was having it really bad right now and didn't seem to focus anymore.  
>"Niño, bring on the dope." The tall thug disappeared and came back equally fast, throwing four bags on the coffee table. Whatever the kid was on, we had it.<p>

**Matt**  
>That hack wouldn't have taken as long if I hadn't been shaking so badly, but it wasn't my fault that Crazy Fuck didn't think to fix my problem until <em>after<em> it. He should see me on speed. Cuts at least ten minutes off my time.

Regardless, I was now high again, stamping out my cigarette and scrambling for the heroin as soon as it was presented to me. If this was how it was gonna be all the time, life was gonna be sweet. Lots of hacking, wages paid in drugs. As long as they fed me occasionally, I literally wouldn't have a complaint. And the rest of the time, free room and board in a cushy (relative to the streets) Mafia base? That was probably warm in winter? Yes, please.

Thoroughly more optimistic now that there was no gun pointed at me but still very aware that there was a gun in the proximity, I watched Crazy Fuck as he stared me down.

"Feeling better, junkie?" he asked.

I knew I was being mocked, but in truth I _was_ feeling better. How bad could this whole situation be? So, outlook positive, I said, "Yes. Thank you."

His face did some kind of expression I couldn't name, but it definitely wasn't something like 'happiness' or 'pleased.'

"Good," he grunted. "See this rug?"

I looked down at my feet and there was, in fact, a tattered rug.

"I do, sir."

"It's yours. Have a good night."

I gaped at him as he vaulted over the back of the couch and made himself comfortable with his back to me. Against my better judgment, I said skeptically, "To sleep on?"

He didn't even turn around, flipping through some files or something. "Mhm."

"The other guys get rooms."

_BANG!_

I like to think that if I hadn't been high, I definitely wouldn't have pissed myself when I heard Crazy Fuck's gunshot. Shaking, I traced the trajectory and found the bullet hole. Right by my toes.

"I never miss," Crazy Fuck said pointedly, looking back down at his papers. So apparently he'd had to at least _glance_ up to shoot. That boded well. "Understand?"

"Y-Yessir," I managed.

"Sit, boy."

I sat without argument.

"Don't move from there. Someone will let you out to do your business in the morning."

Well. Maybe this whole deal wasn't as great as I thought it would be. I may be filthy, I may stink, I may be willing to do almost anything (or, actually, _anything_) for drugs, but I was a person. I might even have a little bit of pride, maybe. So if Crazy Fuck was gonna treat me like a damn _dog _with rugs to sleep on and, apparently, taking dumps outdoors when someone lets me out, I was just gonna leave.

Quietly. After he was asleep. Because that bitch is _insane_.

And so I waited. And waited. And waited. And just sat around in that hellhole, waiting for Crazy Fuck to actually leave for the room which had to be, by process of elimination, his. Long after everyone else was in bed, he was awake, working silently on something that I was too afraid to read over his shoulder to examine. So I simply curled up on the little rug, ignoring the fact that I was doing exactly what he wanted me to do, and continued waiting.

I was so drugged out that I was generally incapable of sleep, and for the first time ever that actually came in handy. I remained vigilant until finally, finally Crazy Fuck suddenly snapped out of his work-trance and rubbed his eyes exhaustedly. He stood up, cracked his neck, and headed towards his room, pausing only to give me an extremely condescending grin.

I quickly looked down. I didn't want to meet his eye.

When I had waited another hour and snoring was all I could hear from any of the rooms, I knew it was my chance.

As quietly as possible, using every ounce of sneaking experience I had gained from stealing various things from various people over the years, I crept towards the entrance.

I was almost there... but there were still four giant sacks of every drug imaginable on the table, and if I could get my hands on that I might actually be able to sell enough (any that I didn't use) to get an apartment or something. I could give some to Candy and the others, assuming they survived, and receive their services. A stash this huge could be my ticket to the big time!

I tiptoed over there and grabbed as much as I could carry, which was two, cursing my weak body for halving my ticket to the big time.

I looked around. Still no one was awake.

Okay, now it was _really _time to get out of here. There could be thousands of dollars in a case, but I was not gonna push it even a bit further.

Silent as a ghost, or so I hoped, I carefully, _carefully_ made my way to the only exit I knew of...

I'd never been one for extrasensory experiences (with the exception of drug-induced hallucinations), which is why I knew the prickly, cold chill that suddenly ran down my spine had to actually mean something.

Suddenly I was in the air, toes not even scraping the cement flooring, and I smelled chocolate even with my thoroughly wrecked sense of smell. This whole sensation was accompanied by the sound of my shirt fabric tearing even more, but that was all I knew until I felt a hand on my shoulder, pushing me so that I spun around from where I dangled.

"I don't sleep, asshole."

Crazy Fuck had grabbed me by the collar. I couldn't help but assume that my life was pretty much over at this point. Eyes huge, I could only look at him, waiting for him to kill me or worse. His eyes were wild and bright, bright, bright, cold, frozen blue. Those eyes were going to be the last thing I ever saw.

But for a long, long time, he only stared at me, insanity pulsing through him like a heartbeat, until finally he dropped me. I crumpled to the floor, never looking away.

He left me there for a long moment. Finally- "Come here," he said calmly. I picked myself up with effort and followed him as he turned on his heels and strode down a few hallways.

I was already lost in the maze, of course, and all I could do was trail behind the walking nightmare and wonder if I would ever see daylight again as he led me towards Force knows what.


	3. Chapter 3

**Mello**  
>It wasn't courage but stupidity, at that point. Or the kid was suicidal. Either way, it would get him shot in no time if he didn't begin to learn his place. Which I would make a duty of teaching him.<br>_Quick learner, _ I thought, when he finally settled on the old dirty rug.  
>I had work to do, and I was not a patient teacher, so I resumed surveying contracts I had stolen to some society Ross wanted to make his in order to find a backdoor our (corrupted) attorneys could use against said society to attack it and make it go bankrupt so we just had to pick up the remains for cheap afterwards, ignoring the piece of shit at my feet.<p>

I finally found what I wanted among the files I was reading, and decided to retreat to my room to say hello to my chocolate stash. My nostrils couldn't stand the reeking junkie anymore, and he apparently had learnt the lesson since, even still wide awake, he hadn't moved an inch from where he had curled up. I would allow him to move in the morning. Probably. But for now I guess I could leave him alone. None of my men would dare to do anything to him, and he wouldn't try to sneak out after I scared him like I did.

I don't know if heroin had short-circuited his brain to the point he couldn't understand he was playing with his life, but when I spun the little shit trying to run away around so he faced me, he was lucky my gun was still on my bed table. Not that I needed it to kill anyone, and I had purposely not taken it with le because I perfectly knew I would have shot him dead. Better not get tempted, huh?  
>I needed his skills and that was the only reason he was still alive, because I didn't need a stinking zombie in my hands. The kid had nothing. He was dirty, his clothes were more holes than fabric, his shoes had <em>duct tape <em> to make them hold together, he was a junkie, and moreover he was obviously a simple-minded. Well, except for the hacking part, that is. And really, that was the only string holding his life in this world, in _my_ world, right now.

"I don't sleep, asshole." I spat. Well, I did, eventually, but I wasn't in my sleep pattern tonight. I mainly went as long as I could without sleeping, which would take three or four days in a row, and I would disappear in my room for 24h when exhaustion would kick in. I was a very light sleeper, and I was insomniac, so I had adopted that pattern so my body had no choice but to shut off when it couldn't go on anymore. That was my only way to get some needed sleep, because just going to bed every night wouldn't work. I would toss and turn and just spend the night trying to sleep and failing miserably. There were the nightmares, the neverending loop of thoughts, the past haunting... just too much to let myself give in. Everyone in the hideout knew about my sleep schedule and never questioned nor disturbed me when I finally got some rest. Even Ross planned missions according to my timetable.

So it wasn't difficult to hear the shuffling in the silent basement. The brat had even gone as far as to steal the dope. Not that I would miss it, or anyone here since it was only a little part of the stash we kept here, but the fact he dared was enough.  
>I let go of him and he landed on the floor.<br>I didn't have a choice at that point. I hadn't killed him right away so I wouldn't now. I had a reputation to hold and now that I had decided in front of my men that the kid would stay alive, then he would. Which didn't mean he wouldn't pay for trying to bite the hand that fed him. Drugged him. Whatever.

It could be fun, even. That single thought willed my killing instinct away, and I smiled inwardly.  
>"Come on."<p>

He followed me as I crossed the hallways to my room, but I was suddenly concerned by the state he was in. There was no way I would keep him inside as it is. Passing by El Niño's door, I hammered with a fist until I heard the man move inside.  
>"Take your clothes off." I ordered the kid, who looked at me with a sceptical look. He didn't hesitate more than the second it took me to slightly turn to him with a glare, and pulled his sweater off. He was taking his shoes off when El Niño opened the door. The large man looked at me then at the kid, but even as surprise painted on his face, he didn't question the strip tease happening in front of him.<br>"Get those cleaned, I want them at 6." I pointed at the pile of tatters with my chin.  
>El Niño simply nodded and waited for the junkie to finish getting undressed, but the stupid brat was now standing with his boxers on, unmoving.<br>"All of them." I said calmly. It was humiliating for him, and all the more fun for me.  
>He gave me a look that would have melted me if I had a heart, but he finally ended up naked, hiding his junk the best he could.<p>

I walked away, the kid following me in silence. I pushed him inside of my room and slammed the door shut.  
>"The bathroom's there," I gestured to the right, "Take a shower and get your ass back here."<br>I strode to my bed as he almost ran to the bathroom, this time responding to my demand without a second thought.  
>"And don't skimp on the soap." I yelled as I heard the water run.<p>

He reappeared a few minutes later and stood in the bathroom's doorway, shifting from one foot to another, shivering, probably waiting for me to tell him what to do.  
>"Here." I said, barely looking up from the book I was reading, showing the carpet at the side of my bed. He knelt there, his hands in his lap. But curiosity obviously got the best of him as he looked around my room and took the view in. As I turned a page, he started and glanced at me briefly with a guilty look before looking down at his hands.<br>I smirked and took a bite of my chocolate bar. The snap made his head shot up, and he looked longingly at the treat before realising he was staring. He mumbled a 'sorry' before his eyes looked down again.  
>"Hungry?" I asked. He nodded, not daring to utter a word.<br>Too bad.  
>I ignored him to get back to my chocolate and book, and when I saw, hours later, the sun peak through the curtains, he was crumpled on the carpet, sleeping.<br>I ripped the tinfoil of a new bar, the special extra dark that would stand for breakfast, and savoured it slowly, as I watched the kid sleeping.

He was so skinny it was a miracle he didn't fall apart. I wondered how long it would take for him to actually do.  
>But it wasn't the game I was playing. I unfortunately needed him. Not that I appreciated that I had to rely on someone else for any task, but it was handy. More time for myself to get to the top.<p>

When I swallowed the last bite of chocolate, I realised that it was probably long past 6am since the sun was way up in the sky and bathing my room with daylight although the curtains were half closed.  
>I glanced at the clock: 9:27.<br>And I had seen no trace of El Niño. The bastard would have to explain that. I jumped out of bed and stormed out of my room. I stopped straight when I saw the pile of clean clothes neatly folded at my feet. Picking them up, I went back inside. The kid was still sleeping soundly.  
>I sighed and, throwing the junkie's belongings on the floor next to him, I headed for a much needed hot shower to untie the aching muscles of my back and neck,. That was the sign I would not go on much longer without sleep.<p>

I couldn't believe he was still asleep when I came back, and I kicked him, making him jump ten miles high.  
>"Get up." I huffed, opening the curtains. He stirred and stood up. Then he noticed the clothes and quickly got dressed. I stared all along just to make him uncomfortable. And I succeeded.<p>

"A true redhead, huh?" I mocked him, as I looked at his crotch, that he quickly covered with his boxers and jeans.  
>I hadn't noticed because of the grim and darkness, but now, in sunlight, his hair was a really bright copper. Which was even more contrasting with his sickly greyish skin. He was so bony too, it was insane. I guess I should feed him once in a while.<p>

I stirred my phone out of my leather and called El Niño.  
>"Bring food for my pet." I said, loving the glimpse of indignation I saw in the kid's eyes.<p>

**Matt**  
>Again with the 'pet' implications. I really didn't appreciate those. Not that I would say anything about it.<p>

And, actually, that was the best night of sleep I had gotten in a really long time. I suspect it was partially because yesterday's was the first proper shower I'd had in three years and for once my own reek didn't keep me awake. I was well aware of how much I stank, believe me. It's not something you ever _really_ get used to. Also, now that I was less exhausted, I was able to notice that this carpet was freakishly soft and comfortable. Carpet plus a nice rug when I'm accustomed to cement contributed to the beautiful night's rest I had gotten, I'm sure.

So I could deal with that 'pet' comment.

Especially since there was supposedly going to be food on the other end.

I waited patiently until the huge guy showed up with a plate teeming with _actual_ food. Part of me had been expecting dog food, but this stuff was legit. A big chicken leg, potatoes, green beans, an orange, a massive glass of milk... I guess that Rocky felt bad for me (maybe?) since he had brought me here and all, but I wasn't going to question it.

However. Best not to get too excited. It might be Crazy Fuck's food and I would have to watch him eat it. There might still be dog food coming.

But it... it was for me! Crazy Fuck gave The Incredible Hulk a raised eyebrow about the selection but nodded for him to set it in front of me, hopefully deciding that I'm way too skinny and should be fed for real. This was good, because I was ravenous. I was starting to get a little itchy, as well, but at the moment I was craving food more than I was craving a fix. After a glance at Crazy Fuck, I tucked into the feast and had it inhaled within minutes. There was a good chance I'd be puking it up later... I'd eaten a little fast...

Knowing a cigarette would calm my stomach (and what feels better after a huge meal? I ask you), I stood up, stretched a bit, and felt thought my pockets. Ah, they must have fallen out when the psycho had shaken me up. I took a few steps towards the door of the room and suddenly I was doing that thing again where I was abruptly levitating in the air.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Oh.

"Was gonna go look for my cigarettes. Sorry, sir."

I wondered if apologies actually meant anything to this guy.

Maybe they meant at least a little, because I wasn't currently a smear of blood on his wall.

He dropped me. "Don't leave the room. Bathroom, my room, that's your world."

"Okay, well, then could _you_ go get my cig-" I shut myself up because, no, obviously, that wasn't going to happen, I wasn't stupid.

"There's no smoking in this room. The smell is disgusting."

"I could just go to the window-"

Next I was on the floor and my cheek was throbbing and my head was spinning. "...Ow..." I said dizzily. He had punched me so hard in the face that I was actually on my ass, now. I had quite a bit of experience being punched and I was rarely flattened- Crazy Fuck was strong. He didn't need The Incredible Hulk doing his bidding all the time! How misleading.

"First," he said calmly, although I could see his temper behind his eyes, "don't talk unless I ask you a question. Second? No. You're not going to trick me, idiot, and you're not going to escape. We're on the third floor and there are alarms."

I honestly hadn't even thought of that, but since I wasn't allowed to talk I couldn't explain myself. I looked at him helplessly and nodded a lot.

"Good. Now. I have things to do- I can't sit in here with trash all day. Bathe again at some point, today, alright? And _stay here_."

"Yessir."

Without further comment, he glided out of the room. I heard the click of a lock and his footsteps fading away, and then I was completely alone.

I had never liked to be alone. I wasn't good at it. If I was going to be completely alone, though, at least I was completely alone in a fascinating room.

And with hundreds of books on huge, wooden bookshelves, how alone can a guy really be?

I cracked my neck, stretched my back, and moseyed over to them, in no hurry since I had all day. Turning my head to read the titles and scanning shelf after shelf, I realized that almost all of them were in German.

Was Crazy Fuck German?

Being this close to so many books reminded me of my days as a straight-A student, and I let one finger run along the spines of the heavy books as I continued to view the shelves' contents.

Yes, mostly German. Maybe he was actually _from_ German, then. He didn't have an accent, that I had noticed, but then I hadn't really been paying attention. I would have to do that next time I saw him.

I cast my eyes over the rest of the room, making note of the huge bed and silk sheets, looking for any photographs or anything else personal and potentially explanative.

Chocolate wrappers. A pile of them in and next to his bed. There was a drawer in the wood bedside table, but I was too afraid of it being alarmed to try it. Other than that, there was nothing in this room. Nothing personal, at least. The stuff that was here was nice and looked expensive, but there wasn't much of it. Not a lot of things that would let me into his head, probably (definitely) by design.

Well, the books... there was a good chance those would tell me something if I could read them. And that drawer...

I contented myself with browsing though his library, reading the titles aloud to myself, pulling out any that looked interesting, secretly hoping a hidden door would spring open, triggered by some specific book. I didn't know German, but I knew Spanish and Chinese and there was a damn good chance my neurotransmitter-soaked brain remembered some of my Russian lessons. I tried to apply my knowledge of those languages to the titles of the books with very little success, but of course there are a lot of German words that look or sound like English words, so there was that, and I was able to keep this activity up for a long, long time, aware that it was the only form of entertainment I was liable to encounter.

As the hours passed, I had a harder and harder time staying still and I was developing a familiar ache in my bones. Heroin is a bitch on its way out. I really should have chosen something gentler.

I forced myself to pay even more attention to the books after quickly taking the shower I was ordered to take, fully removing one now and flipping through the pages, not allowing my mind to leave the unfamiliar words, looking for patterns in prefixes and suffixes and anything else. I had done cold turkey before and I could do it again.

Naturally, it got worse as the hours passed. Crazy Fuck didn't have a clock in here, but it was dark and had been for a while, and from the little involuntary leg movements I was currently experiencing I was willing to guess that it was obscenely-early-in-the-morning-o'clock.

I heard footsteps and crammed the book into its place, vaulting across the room (my muscles cramping in protest) and landing painfully on my rug, curling up. Just in time, too. Crazy Fuck appeared in the doorway and locked it behind himself (did it lock both ways? Interesting).

I, out of habit, wanted to greet him, but he didn't even look at me which was probably for the best.

I was not, however, expecting him to drop his pants.

Apparently it was bedtime, and apparently Crazy Fuck slept in the nude. Good to know.

He peeled off his tight leather top and hung it up in a closet I hadn't explored, kicking off his boots, as well. He didn't wear underwear. That looked like it could be kinda uncomfortable, considering that his pants were extremely tight leather...

I already knew he was crazy. This wasn't exactly a surprise. What _was_ surprising was that I was actually drooling a little bit, looking at him.

I swiped at the corner of my mouth before he could notice and just kept on staring. If he didn't want me to look, he wouldn't be stripping in front of me. And I intended to look, because _damn_.

As much as I liked feeling up hookers, there was just something about a perfectly-formed man that had never failed to excite me. And this guy was _perfectly _perfectly-formed.

He caught me out of the corner of his eye and I'm almost certain he purposely flexed that taut bicep at me, adducted his shoulder blades like that, turned his head so that his collar bones popped and his neck muscles tightened...

His skin was just... it was covered in gruesome scars, for one thing, but other than that it was completely flawless, smooth-looking, pale. His hair flashed against it as he moved to slide under his covers, and then my too-brief show was over and all I could see was his dangerous face and sharp nose, ice eyes closed. Hadn't looked at me once.

Was he... asleep? Despite what he had said yesterday about not sleeping?

I watched his breathing, and, yes, he was.

Crazy Fuck was _asleep_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Mello**  
>I was at my limit. The more El Niño came to me to keep me updated with what I had asked him, the more I snapped at him. I told him to fuck off and left for my room.<br>I undressed and crashed in my bed, falling asleep in seconds. I was out for at least a full round of clock.

I hadn't had my content of sleep yet when something awoke me. In two seconds I was knelt on my bed, my hand pointing a gun in the direction of the noise. I always kept a small automatic between the mattress and the bedpost.  
>But all I saw at the end of my barrel was a messy redhead.<p>

Right. I had forgotten about him.  
>He was shaking, looking at me mouth slightly open but there was no fear in his eyes. It didn't take a genius to see he needed his fix. His eyes were fucking <em>pleading<em>me. Must be painful huh? That's what you get for making friends with Mr Brownstone.

I lowered my gun and tucked it back into place. The damn junkie woke me up. That's all I deemed important at that moment, that little shit _woke me up_.  
>I slid off the bed, towering above him since he was sat on the carpet. Now the fear was there. Good.<br>I slapped him. Hard. And went back to bed.

I didn't need to face him, the thud I heard in my back was enough to tell me I had sent him to the ground.  
>Better not get my carpet all bloody kid.<p>

I drifted off to dreamland again. Or at least I tried to, but I wasn't tired enough anymore. I obstinated myself but sleep just escaped me.  
>I stood up and stirred my cell phone out of the pocket of the pants I had let on the foot of the bed. It was 4pm.<br>Fucking 4pm. I shouldn't have been up before 7pm at least.

I turned around, ready to punch the kid. I expected him curled up or something, rubbing the cheek I had slapped a little earlier, but he was staring.  
>The bastard, even in withdrawal, shaky and obviously aching all over, was looking at my naked self, and even if he was kinda quick at levelling his eyes with mines, I easily noticed that he had been staring at my <em>ass<em>. Drooling.  
>The kid was gay.<br>Not that I'd touch such a waste though.

That statement made me suddenly concerned with his health. No, not in _that_way. I wouldn't care if the kid died now. He would be handy but I wouldn't waste time and efforts to actually take care of him beyond feeding him when I would think of it. I was concerned by the fact that he may be crawling with STDs, and therefore exposing me since we used the same bathroom.

I gave him a disgusted look and called the doc. Then slid in my leather pants.  
>The man came minutes later.<br>"Get him fully checked up and bring him back when you're done with him. Shoot him if he does anything funny," I turned to the trash still knelt on my carpet, "like trying to escape or stealing anything."  
>The kid gulped, and stood up at my sign as fast as his body allowed. Damn, he had it pretty bad right now.<br>"And no sugar in his coffee, understood?" The doc nodded and grabbed the kid by the arm before shutting the door.

Since I was not anywhere close to getting some more sleep, I ran a bath and soaked in there until the water went too cold. I had a few hours to kill since everything was postponed to tomorrow, since I was supposed to be fucking sleeping. The kid would pay for that. If he ever came back.  
>No need to draw a picture to the doc, if the kid had AIDS he'd be shot even before passing my doorframe again.<p>

I got some food brought once I was fully dressed and pacing in my room. The doc was taking a hell of a long time with the kid, which didn't bode well. I knew that the results would take some time to come even if being in the Mafia cut all waiting lines but still, it didn't take an hour to take some blood and put a thermometer up his ass. Even if he liked it.

I finished my plate and went to the doc's office a few corridors further to check what was taking so long.  
>The door was slightly open when I arrived and I was surprised to hear the kid talk with the doc. Talk intelligently that is. I pushed the door open and the junkie immediately shut up, starting.<br>"What the fuck is taking so long?" I growled.  
>"Easy Mello, easy..." the doc raised his hands in a peace offering, "We were talking and I didn't see time pass, I'm sorry, that's all my fault."<br>The kid stared wide eyed at the doc then at me, probably because anyone assuming a fault in front of me was bound to be shot dead and the kid had understood that part very quickly.

But the doc was out of the frame. That was my only watchword from Ross. Do-not-kill-the-doc.  
>Someone with his contacts in any medical area, be it hospitals, chemists, labs and whatever we could need here was hard to find, and even harder to corrupt and get into the Mafia.<br>And the man being here for at least fifteen years and much older than me, had never called me Boss unlike El Niño or the rest of the men here, he had always used the alias I went by, like Ross. I never really gave a shit, I guess they were keen on showing some paternalism.

I huffed. "So, are you done with your tea party girls?"

The kid jumped from the consultation table he was sat on.  
>"Go to the room, the door's open." I told him with a glare that pretty much said that he'd better go there straight.<br>Once he was gone, I asked the doc for a full briefing.

"Well, He certainly needs to eat more, and it didn't escape you that he's on heroine..." he began  
>"No shit, really?" I spat disdainfully. Thank you Captain Obvious.<br>"He's only starting with the withdrawal right now, I gave him some tranquillizers because I couldn't get into a vein, he was shaking too much, but you may want to either provide him regular takes, or help him become clean, if you intend to keep him with you."  
>"Help him? And what next?" I didn't give a fuck about the kid's state, he had put himself into this mess, he could as well shake or have it as bad as he wanted, for all I cared.<br>"All I'm saying is that having him around in withdrawal will be a pain in the ass for you is all, if you care for some peace." the doc shrugged.  
>"He'll get over it, I'm not providing that shit to him anymore. I didn't come to hear a fucking report about his nasty habits, tell me the stuff I asked you about and cut it with the pity already." If the kid valued his life, he would be weaning in silence, but I was pretty sure he knew he shouldn't fuck up so I wasn't particularly concerned with whatever he went through in the next days. A clean hacker was more reliable than a junkie hacker.<p>

"Nothing to be alarmed about. Low blood cells, a bit of anaemia, but overall he's clean, no disease." the doc informed me. Good.  
>I went back to my room. The kid was sat crisscrossed on the carpet, obviously waiting for me to come back.<br>I gestured to the sandwiches El Niño had brought earlier with my owns: "Eat."  
>He jumped on his feet faster than I expected, and swallowed the food quickly.<p>

After a few hours of sitting on the carpet, while I was reading, laid on my bed, he became restless. He first began to look around and move without daring to stand up. But he did eventually, went to the bathroom, came back, went to the bathroom again, then back and tried to settle on the floor but it was useless, he acted like he had bugs in his pants.  
>"THE FUCK!" I yelled at some point, exasperated, "Sit and keep silent before I decide to silence you myself!"<br>God, was he unnerving!

He seemed to try really hard, but failed miserably at staying still. But at least he stayed silent.  
>I rubbed my eyes, the lack of sleep still gnawing at me. I hadn't had at least 16 hours, which didn't bode well for tomorrow. I tried to concentrate on the book I was reading but dozed off without noticing.<p>

**Matt  
><strong>Thankfully, the vomiting didn't start until after he was asleep, but when it happened it happened with a vengeance.

I was surprised and pleased that the sound of me lurching to the toilet and paying tribute to the porcelain god didn't wake him, because I was pretty sure that 'waking up because Matt is puking' would have even worse consequences for me than 'waking up because Matt is whimpering in pain.' My previous trips back and forth had just been to _be moving, _but he'd have to allow these if he didn't want me to redecorate his lovely carpet.

Assuming he wasn't going to give me any more drugs (I wasn't picky about what substance, at this point), I was going to feel like this for at least a week. I tried to do some mental calculations- how long had I been doing heroin? Because that would affect how long I felt like shit.

And, actually, how long ago had I added in methadone? Stupid, I know, but a misguided attempt to get clean several years ago had just addicted me to an additional substance. The reason I was wondering now was because methadone withdrawal can kill you, if you've been doing enough of it for long enough.

I didn't _think_ I'd been doing enough of it for long enough...

We'd find out, wouldn't we?

More immediately- his name is _Mello_? What the _fuck_? Maybe he liked irony. He must. There was no way he could _actually_ think he was mellow. Just more evidence that he was crazy, not that I needed any more.

I looked at him where he laid in his bed, propped up against his headboard, his book slipping from his fingers. They say that people look peaceful in their sleep. They lie. He looked no less terrifying than usual except that I couldn't see his eyes. Knowing that he was a light sleeper, it almost made him _scarier_- the tension from the fear of waking the monster and being eaten alive.

I could see his nipple where the blanket didn't quite cover him.

I almost giggled. Seriously.

Then he mumbled something and I almost shit myself because holy fuck he was awake and he was gonna put a bullet though me because I was staring at him again and dear sweet mother of crap my short fucked-up life was over and I was gonna die a painful painful death but really wasn't that what I wanted minus the pain?

But his eyes didn't open.

Was... he talking in his sleep? Is that something demons usually did?

Ever carefully, I crept toward him, craning as close to him as I could get without making myself shit myself in fear of being so close.

And, yes, he was. He was definitely mumbling something... and I was willing to make an educated guess that it was German.

_Interesting._

Should I... wake him up?

I barely managed to stop myself from laughing out loud. Way to go, drugs. Good job frying my sense of self-preservation. Of _course_ I shouldn't wake him up! That would be suicide!

Well wait, now, let's not dismiss that as an option.

If you think about it, why not? Why _not_ just wake him up? It would be like police-assisted suicide except that Mello was the opposite of a cop. I could get out of all of this now— the danger I was in for being involved with the Mafia, the nightmare I had willingly sallied forth into with the drugs, the legal _brigade _that would be after me if the extent of my hacking were ever discovered... What was the point of sticking around for all of that to catch up with me? I had only narrowly avoided the consequences of it so far. Who was to say that next time I would get so lucky? Maybe next time it would be a gang fight instead of being picked up by the Mafia. Maybe next time I messed with a drug it would be purer and I'd die with a needle in my arm. Maybe next time I hacked into something I would leave a trail that led right to me. And I would be dead or comatose or in prison, and as for being in prison, that would be a death sentence anyway for someone like me.

Waking Mello up would be like that "Last Great Act of Defiance" T-shirt with the mouse and the eagle and the middle finger. Doing something that would piss him off right before he killed me. And this way I would get a say in how I died. Not in some hospital or murdered by a prison inmate. Dying free. Proud.

I made some pretty good arguments for it. But my father had always taught me to look for reasons _not_ to do things, too. ...Not that I had followed his advice so far, but to be fair this was a bigger question even than 'Should I push down this plunger?'

So. Reasons _not_ to wake up Mello and die for it. Well, my father himself. But I didn't know where he was, anymore, and it was unlikely he'd take me back now anyway. I could live to spite my mother, who is surely humiliated to have a son as fucked-up as I am. There was always the prospect of staying alive in order to annoy Mello, but that wasn't a good reason because it was highly unlikely that staying alive would be possible while annoying Mello. I was pretty sure that Candy and the others would miss me if I died, and I _knew_ my customers would notice I was gone, if only to have it occur to them that they'd need another dealer if they hadn't already found one. There was one really nice lady at a syringe exchange program I frequented who always gave me condoms and seemed genuinely pleased every time I tested negative (like I was sleeping around enough to need tons of condoms and AIDS tests. Although I guess there was the sharing of needles I sometimes did). She might notice if I didn't come around anymore.

Most people don't get to choose their deaths. That's the thing I kept coming back to, in the end. Maybe a few people would, in passing, notice that I no longer existed. But the prospect of ending it all here, right now, before any of the stupid shit I've done could catch up to me, before I had to experience the upcoming week of agony and possibly have to try to be clean for the rest of my life... nothing was worth how hard it would be to get clean and, more, to _stay_ clean.

So.

That decided, I went to the bathroom. From one of my many bouts with reverse peristalsis, I remembered that there was a toilet brush in a bowlish thing sitting next to the toilet. I assumed that Mello wasn't the one who did this cleaning, but it would serve my purposes very well.

I took the toilet brush out of it and set it aside. Then I went to the sink, turned the faucet all the way to cold, and waited.

When the running water was frigid, I stuck the brush holder under the stream, making a funnel with my hand (which was promptly numb from the cold) because the thing was almost too big to fit in the sink.

When it was as full as I could get it, I carefully, carefully carried it over to where Mello slept.


	5. Chapter 5

**Mello**  
>I almost jumped ten miles high when I felt ice cold water splash all over me suddenly, stirring me violently off my light sleep. But even the freezing surprise didn't eat my self control away. Past the half second of initial reaction, my mind quickly caught up with awakeness and I stopped my body ready to move even before my muscles set in motion.<br>I simply opened my eyes to locate the origin of the liquid I just got drenched with, and saw, through the drops hanging in my lashes, the junkie looking at me with a satisfied smile, the container of the water empty in his hand.

Hadn't he looked so happy with himself, I might have taught him a lesson the hard way, but I didn't need to be a genius to understand what was going on. I didn't do drugs for the good reason that I exactly knew what they did, and didn't want this for me. I wanted my brain fully functional, as well as my body.

And the mess standing at the side of my bed with a dorky smile had his intentions clearly painted on his dumb face.  
>So I stood up, walked past him, not missing the slight fear as he made a step aside to free the way, not even the crestfallen expression that replaced his grin when he saw me disappear in the bathroom.<p>

I grabbed a towel, and went back to my room. Drying my hair, face and torso, I slid off the dripping leather and replaced it with dry pants. Then I grabbed my cell phone and called El Niño.  
>The kid was still standing with the plastic bowl in his hand, looking at my every move, confusion growing in his eyes.<p>

My underling came knocking at my door within seconds. I unlocked and let him in. The tall man went from surprise to confusion as his eyes surveyed the scene: soaked sheets and pillow, the redhead still with his bowl in hand, wet leather pooled on the floor, a dark circle forming on the carpet around the garment, and me totally calm, hair still damp. Even if he wasn't especially smart, El Niño quickly understood that I wasn't out of the shower, and put two and two together as to what had happened. But he obviously couldn't process the fact that the kid was still alive.

"Clean that mess." I ordered my right hand as I gestured to the bed and clothes, "and you," I addressed to the suicidal piece of trash as I slid in my boots and grabbed a tee shirt in my wardrobe, "come with me."  
>On these words, I exited my room, leaving El Niño at his task. The kid followed, depositing the bowl at his feet before tiptoeing behind me to catch up.<p>

I made my way through the corridors and down the stairs until we reached the lowest ground, where no one except me, Ross or El Niño had access to. Well, some other people came here too, from time to time, but never on their own accord, if you see what I mean. Torture room, yes.

I could make my way through the darkness, I knew the room perfectly. Hell, I was the one to set everything in place here. Even the two large comfortable armchairs behind the glass wall where Ross and me admired the show, protected from any body fluid projection. Not that I disliked using my little toys myself here, but it only depended on my mood. That is to say if I was merciful enough to just watch and let El Niño do the torture. Because even under my command, the man was never as cruel and heartless as I was. I had studied surgery and medicine just for the sole purpose of knowing how to harm and dislocate and cut, and keep the body under my hands still going.

I slid my hand along the cement wall on my left side, and pushed the switch as I turned to face the kid. He started from finding me so close to him, a smirk on my lips, and then he saw the content of the room.  
>The terror in his eyes was so beautiful that I could have orgasmed.<br>"Actually, I'm quite satisfied that you understood that displeasing me could get you killed. Unfortunately, I don't like it when things are forced on me. So... even if I know that it is just one more consequence of stopping with your shit, I intend to punish you for doing what you did, as well as for being suicidal. You're _not_ dying before I say so."  
>I approached even closer, and he tried to step backward but his back met the wall. I put my hands on each side of him, my face so close that I could feel his breath on my neck as he tried to avoid my eyes.<p>

"Look at me." I said with a sugary voice, in a breath. He levelled his eyes with mines, and there was something more than fear. I couldn't place it though. He gulped hardly, his chest heaving. I put my hand on the space where his neck and chest joined, just to feel his heartbeat. The blood was pumping hard and I could feel the thuds against my palm. So sweet. I almost wanted to feel that heart beat raw between my hands... but I had other plans for the guy. He was lucky I needed his technical skills.

I let my hand roam higher until I was holding his jaw, forcing him to keep looking at me as I inched closer. Our noses were almost touching. He gulped again, his eyes wide.  
>I approached my lips from his ear.<br>"You see... I hold every string of yours. See me as your master, playing with his puppet, the Moirae holding the string of your life... I am your God, and I decide what you are, what you do, and how you do it. And right now you're nothing more than..." I murmured, before withdrawing from him.

Then I slapped him. Hard. He fell on the ground, as blood spilled from his lips, and he looked at me in shock as he tried to stand up.  
>"...a piece of shit." I smirked at him with disdain, and grabbed him by his collar, leading him to the sink on the other side of the room. I pushed the drain button closed and ran the water to fill it.<br>The kid was quick to see where this was leading, and since he couldn't get away - I was still grasping his shirt – he began to fucking plead me. If there was something I hated, it was that precise thing.  
>I cut him straight by introducing his head with the full sink.<br>I counted fifteen, looking at the blood still escaping his lips twirl in a pink ribbon in the transparent water, and stirred him out.  
>"I thought you liked to play with water?" I mocked him as he tried to breathe between coughs.<br>"I'm sorry! I won't do it again!" he whined, but I plunged his head under water once more. Twenty.  
>"I know." I said, stirring him upwards, "I'm pretty sure you don't want to get intimate with any other device here. But act like a fucking man and stop pleading me." I sighed, disgusted by the sight of that sissy.<br>Thirty.  
>And when he could breathe again, he stayed silent. Or maybe he was too busy coughing water, but he didn't utter any prayer to me this time, he just looked at me with despair.<br>"Good, it was about time you grow some balls." I chuckled, letting go of his shirt and groping his balls, "Not really big but that's a beginning." I walked to the door.

We went back to my room. Everything was neat, and El Niño was gone. He had quickly learnt to stash duplicates of everything contained in my room in the basement for quick replacement so it had only taken a few minutes for him to retrieve, with the help of other of my men, a dry mattress, carpet and pillow. The bed was redone freshly, the plastic bowl back with its brush near the toilets, and my leather gone for cleaning. Good.

"Clean yourself." I told the kid, gesturing to the bathroom. He had stopped dripping water long before we reached my room, but he was still wearing a wet tee shirt and his face was a mess of blood.  
>I heard the shower run just as I left again, once I was changed into my full leather attire, guns in place and ready to go back to work. This was going to be a fucking long way to go until we had this mission completed, and damn, I wasn't fresh.<p>

Ross and me spent hours planning the last details of the mission. Everything was checked twice, every tiny aspect surveyed and the cleaning of the rival gang programmed. It took us eleven hours before we were sure that everything was fine and damn, I could really have used some sleep after that. But I didn't have the time for that, I needed to get going. Plan execution: ignition.

First, I needed to make mine a shipment of big guns. A nine hours drive to Aberdeen, Scotland, and I was in possession of twelve sten guns and a load of grenades that had arrived directly from Irak. This had been planned long ago, and we were used to that kind of trade, so it was smooth and easy. Nine hours more for the drive back, with only two spent on the backseat for a nap while El Niño drove, and I was going for the second part of the plan.

The kid had done a great job when hacking into that security system days ago, I had to admit it. I had no problem getting the specific item I wanted once inside of the bank. No alarm, no lock, nothing, once I had activated the program he had set in place when he had proved himself. Good boy. I entered, passed several doors, opened the safe deposit and grabbed the thing, as simple as that.

What revealed to be more complicated was the aftershock it created among our rival gang.  
>I knew it wouldn't be long until they found out that their precious chip had gone, but not <em>that <em> fast. Actually, we had planned to wipe out the totality of the rival gang after that theft, but I supposed I had a little more time than that.  
>Something had escaped the kid's controls: as light as the chip was, the velvet box that contained it had set a silent alarm directly warning the owner of the missing piece as soon as the weight of the chip was gone of the box.<p>

I was barely starting my motorcycle that I saw two black cars arrive my direction at breakneck speed. I quickly scrammed as El Niño's wheels screeched behind me, telling me that he was putting the black Bentley between me and the thugs chasing us.  
>I was fast enough to escape but I could hear gunshots being exchanged in the distance. Well, if El Niño didn't make it, that meant a promotion for one of my other men...<p>

To the dismay of the men, El Niño came back less than one hour later, harmed but alive. But another was missing, killed in the fire exchange. Not that I cared.  
>The third part could begin now. The first to get to the other had the advantage. And I had it, because I knew where the gang's hideout was located thanks to El Niño (for once, he hadn't fucked up, but came back with informations that the thugs had kindly provided before getting their head blown off) . And they still hadn't located us on their side.<p>

I took all the men I could and we got there. The place was huge, and it took us more than four hours and two men shot to be able to reach the entrance. The building was well guarded. A couple hours more to clean inside and we reached the final boss, who was wiped out as well.  
>The remaining men and me went back to Ross with a little extra. Not only had we erased from earth the gang that was our major threat, but the mob of that gang had a pretty well supplied old wine collection, that I made sure my men charged in the trunk before we left. Besides tits, Ross' soft spot was french quality wine, and I had no doubts he would love the attention.<p>

Madness ensued. Ross drank his wine, urging me to accompany him, the guys drank their load of cheap alcohol, various substances passed from hands to noses to veins, some of the prostitutes that were still alive were brought in the common room, and the level of guzzling was so high that a live action porn took place on the couches and carpets. Ross didn't miss a piece of it, but at some point the exhibition of dicks and my own drunken state made me want my share of flesh. But as I said, and even shitfaced, I wouldn't touch a prostitute. Hell, I wouldn't touch a chick.

**Matt  
><strong>Ok, so my plan may have backfired.

My main reason for believing this? The torture that didn't end with me being killed. I thought that was a fairly adequate indicator.

And now I had been dumped into this damn room again and locked in, left with no drugs, no food, and no idea when Mello would be back to supply either of these things, if ever.

The thing I _did_ have? The image of ice cold eyes burned into my memory.

I really, really wanted to be traumatized by the whole experience. I probably was, maybe. But aren't traumatized people a little more... like... horrified? That's not to say that I enjoyed being tortured, by any means— shit, I wasn't a masochist or anything— but at the same time...

Trying not to look into it too much, I forced myself over to his books. I suspected that even if he caught me with something in German, he probably wouldn't do anything to me. Junkies don't know German, of course! And he had no idea that I had a bit of experience with learning new languages.

Or that I knew enough of the Bible to start teaching myself right away.

Mello had several, as it turned out, so I picked the one at random and hoped for the best, opening it up to John 3:16, the most classic verse of all. Even though my skin was crawling from my body's attempts to reach homeostasis _without_ the presence of every drug known to man, I forced myself to read, to look for patterns in the words and syntax and to make connections. I was good at this shit. I had forgotten _how_ good. If I had been practicing this skill the whole time I'd been practicing with pills and needles, how good would I be now?

Hours passed in this way, with German slowly lodging itself into my brain and taking root there, dregs of what I'd heard spoken over the years suddenly coming into focus in my mind and suddenly making sense. Perfect auditory memory, bitches. I was losing track of time completely, only my gradually increasing withdrawal symptoms (I had to throw up a few times, had to stop to wipe sweat off my hands and face when the pages started sticking to me) gave me any indication that time actually _was _passing.

When I looked up, it was dark. And that reminded me... what had Mello said in his sleep...?

After another hour of trying to translate the German words that I could still almost hear him mumbling in my head, I was coming up with almost nothing. Fried, aware that I wasn't going to be able to cram any more into my brain for a while, I carefully put the Bible back in its place, patting my hips to remove a layer off of my sweaty palms.

So... I was really hungry. When was The Supreme Psycho One coming back?

Maybe... this would be a good time to check the drawer?

By now, I was almost sure that it wasn't in Mello's nature to put alarms on drawers. I suspected that he would be more of the type to punish people's transgressions, not prevent them. As such... maybe... I could get away with a quick peek... just to see what he keeps in there...

But he could come back. If he caught me going through his stuff, he would probably torture me again, thinking I was trying to get myself killed. Feeling my mind pump with information again after so long... I wasn't sure I really _wanted_ him to kill me, now. What if I got caught going through his stuff and he saw in my eyes that I wasn't doing it to get him to kill me, so he actually did just kill me? What if...

Well if it was so secret, why would he keep it in an unlocked drawer where anyone could just walk in and see it?

Indignant now, I marched right up to his bedside table and opened the drawer with one swift, courageous movement.

I was a little disgusted with myself when, despite my fake bravery, I took a huge jump back. Was I expecting the drawer to explode or something?

...Okay, maybe I was, a little...

When no alarms went off and when no explosions happened, I approached the drawer again.

The first thing I saw was a little flask, which was disappointingly empty. Probably a good thing or I probably would have drank it and guaranteed that I'd be caught. Craning my neck around instead of shifting the contents, I could make out lube and condoms, and somewhere in the back... something red.

It says a lot about Crazy Fuck that for a moment I was absolutely convinced— as in, testify in court under oath, convinced— that he just had some dried blood hanging out in his drawer.

Upon closer inspection, though... it was... a _rosary_?

My mind simply shut down for a moment. There was no way. Why would _this person_ have a rosary? A Bible, or even multiple Bibles, was one thing, but an honest-to-God rosary? A legit five decade, three antiphon, Jesus-Christ-on-a-cross-bearing _rosary?_

I just... I couldn't even... a _rosary_?

I was scared to touch it, but I had to. Tenderly, I drew it out, making sure it didn't catch on anything, feeling the familiar smoothness of well-worn beads in my hands. I remembered how to pray a rosary. I wasn't Catholic, but my aunt...

Part of me wanted to go through and say the whole thing. 'Work the beads,' as my aunt had called it. But would God or Mary or whoever really listen to someone like me? The garbage head who was inexplicably captivated by cold blue eyes with no kindness in them, who felt up hookers and sold drugs to anyone who would pay? Who had, only half a day ago, tried to kill himself?

I let the chain fall through my fingers and back into the drawer, which I closed slowly.

That might have been enough probing into Crazy Fuck's personal belongings for one day.

Feeling very heavy, I made my way to one of the bookshelves and selected a German book at random. I brought it back to my rug with me, curled up on it, and began to 'read,' even my sleepy brain making some connections.

...

I woke with a jolt when the door slammed open and Mello appeared in the doorway, visibly swaying, absolutely reeking of alcohol, and really, _really_ pissed.

"Fuck me."


	6. Chapter 6

**Mello**  
>Oh fuck. I thought I wouldn't even make it to my room, I was totally, completely shitfaced. I was so used to drink myself to oblivion with vodka that I had almost forgotten that it could be that bad with wine.<p>

I was lucky that my men were even more afraid of me when I was wasted than when I was clear, which was saying something, because they would probably have flapped their gums otherwise. Hell, I don't know how many times I kissed the walls on my way across the corridor.  
>Oh yes, the door, finally. It slammed open too fast to my likings so I quickly had nothing but myself to try to stand upright. Which was a very hard thing to do when the furniture was moving around the room and you didn't know if the one you wanted to hold on to wouldn't be gone when you reached it.<p>

Mmh. There was someone in my room. Ah, the techie. That's right. Oh, now that I thought of it, that was the reason why I wanted to go back to my room.  
>"Fuck me."<br>He stared at me with eyes so wide I thought they would pop out of his head.  
>I walked to the bed and let myself fall on it, face first. Damn, if the room could stop spinning.<p>

I woke up because of the lack of air and realised I had my face still buried in my pillow. I flipped on my back with a groan. I probably didn't sleep long because techie-guy (what was his name already?) was still gaping at me.  
>My pet... oh yeah! I asked him to fuck me, that's why.<br>"What you wait'n for?" I slurred, pushing on my boots with my feet with difficulty. After some squirming I managed to get rid of them, and turned on my side to look at the redhead better.  
>"Name?"<br>"M... Matt..." Ah, yes. Matt.

"Matt. Ya heard what I said?" I probed myself on my elbow and began to unzip my vest. The hard part was when I tried to take it off. I stood up, trying not to fall, and got naked before falling back on the bed.  
>I looked at the techie, stroking myself. He was obviously trying not to look at my lower half, but I knew he wanted it. I wanted it.<br>"Come here, suck me..." I wouldn't be waiting forever. Ross and the others were fucking all over the place, and I wouldn't be the only one not getting laid tonight. Especially not when I had a guy cute enough at hand.  
>"I'm not gay."<br>"Like I care. Don't make me make you suck me with a gun pointed at your head." Wow, I managed to said that without stuttering. Go me. And like hell the kid wasn't gay. I had seen him lurk my body before.

Not gay my ass. I could tell without a doubt that it wasn't the threat that made him approach and grab my dick in his hand. He craved for my disco stick. Oh well. Poor choice of words. Blame Lady Gaga. And wine.

Holy shit! The kid was good at this. I grabbed his hair and began to push him down, it felt too good in this mouth of his.  
>He started to cough and pushed me away so he could regain his breath.<br>I reached for his pants and took his junk out. I could have killed him for pushing me away but right now my sex drive was overtaking all the rest, fortunately for him, and all I was thinking of was that I wanted this thing inside of me, and quick.

Damn, he wasn't hard.  
>"What? I'm not good 'nough for you lil' shit?" I growled. I know how good I look, thank you. So what was his problem?<br>He was looking at me so frightened, it was starting to irritate me.  
>"Hurry up and fuck me." I grabbed his chin with a hand, sitting so I could face him. His lower lip was trembling. I smirked and sucked on it, before lightly biting it. The kid really had a nice mouth.<br>I yanked his hair to bring him closer so I could have more of it, and started kissing him. He didn't seem to be so sure at first. He didn't exactly pull away, but he was obviously weary. Then he just began to kiss back and I brought him with me back on the bed so I could lay down and the room would stop spinning.  
>He whimpered when I pulled on his hair too hard, but shit, that kiss was sexy.<p>

I ground against him but I could still feel he was flat.  
>I pushed him away, hard, and scowled at him.<br>"I said fuck me. Don't make me say it one more time kid."

He was scared. I think he was trembling, even, but it could have been the room moving on its own too, so I couldn't tell for sure. The wine was starting to dissipate in my blood. Oh, I had still an amount of it pumping in my veins big enough to kill an elephant, but when I had been quite jolly before, now I was entering the phase I was more used to, like with vodka: mean drunk.

I stripped him violently and threw him to the bed.  
>"Touch yourself."<br>He complied quickly, not wanting to taste my fists probably, but it didn't change anything, he still couldn't raise it up.  
>"You'd rather do one of those sluts, wouldn't ya?" I yelled, slapping him.<br>"No! I just... I..." I slapped him harder. I didn't want to hear his whiny voice. I wanted some dick, damnit!

**Matt  
><strong>He had it all wrong: completely, one hundred percent wrong. When a beautiful man walks into the room and orders you to fuck him, you fuck him and don't ask questions. It was definitely not an issue of standards, since I considered prostitutes perfectly viable options. It wasn't even an issue of the fact that I probably wasn't gay, at least not completely, because I was definitely turned on by this.

It was, simply, that between drugs, starvation, and sleep deprivation my body was blown to hell and I couldn't get Luigi to do a thing.

By all means, having that cock in my mouth should have been enough. By _all_ means. It was a beautiful one, the right dusky color and smooth texture and shape and with a slight upward curve to it. Also, it had been a long time since I'd seen any action from a man, a really long time, and I was remembering with a vengeance that I liked the taste of this particular bit of a person. Especially, apparently, this particular bit of _this_ person. I was sure I wouldn't mind taking a ride on it were the situations reversed. Mello was absolutely batshit crazy, and I was more than aware of it, thanks, but you don't have to be in love with someone to find them damn attractive and you know what? The idea of literally fucking the guy who spent all his time figuratively fucking me was appealing enough in and of itself that my manhood should have been cooperating, even if Mello _weren't_ sex on legs. Which he was. It's called hatesex.

But no. Even as he stripped me roughly, putting further tears into the shreds I tried to claim as clothes and throwing them aside like the rags they were, and tossed me down onto his incredibly comfortable bed, nothing. Even when he ordered me to touch myself, his voice low and like gravel in a way that sent a jolt down my spine, nothing. Even as I _did _touch myself, employing my absolute best jerking-off techniques to try to get _some_ reaction from Down South, everything stayed all limp and useless. Nothing, nothing, nothing, and Mello was getting angrier and angrier and angrier, taking it personally, edging enough towards sober that he could finally be truly and properly pissed.

"You'd rather do one of those sluts, wouldn't ya?"

His aim seemed to improve with his slightly increased sobriety, because he managed to slap me really hard, dead on the cheek. It turned my head with it. I imagined a Mello handprint on my skin accompanying the orchestra of stinging and throbbing. And no, I honestly wouldn't rather be doing one of the prostitutes, not when I had this man standing above me, muscles coiled and ready to strike, bare naked with a frankly impressive erection nudging my shoulder, still shiny from my saliva. No, I wasn't thinking about prostitutes at the moment, and it was absolutely no fault of his that I couldn't get it up.

Well, maybe if he had fed me better...

"No! I just..." What? Can't get an erection despite how badly I want to because I'm a sick little junkie? "I..." He smacked me again in precisely the same place, even harder, and it's not that I was some delicate flower in the sack but he could really hit hard. But _Zelda_, those arms, I could see the muscles moving under the flawless skin as he primed to strike me again...

Were he a bit less drunk and a bit more on guard, I never would have been able to pull it off. Somehow, though, I was actually the one in a better position at the moment, relatively, so when he next swung his arm I grabbed his wrist and with a sharp tug overbalanced him, sending him toppling down onto me. The alcohol reduced his reaction time and I used the extra second to capture him by his hair and pull his mouth into mine, kissing him harder than I'd ever kissed anyone.

He groaned and repositioned himself over me, propping up on his forearms and knees and stooping to keep his lips on mine, back curled like a stretching leopard, possessive. I could feel the heat radiating from his body and the way he was rutting against me, sending more sparks through my spine but still having no effect on my stupid dick, with which I would shortly be having a very serious conversation about performance expectations.

When we were both gasping for breath, desperate, when he was biting more than kissing and my thigh was slick from his pre-come, I squeezed my fists in his hair, making him grunt, and said against his mouth, "I want you, you crazy fucking son of a bitch."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Note: **We're back! Sorry for the long wait, and can't tell when will be the next update, sorry! You will just have to wait and see :)_**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Mello<br>**In the back of my mind was a voice that was yelling me to teach him who was in charge here, as he tugged on my arm so hard that I fell on top of him, and he pulled me into a deep and violent kiss and I forgot.  
>I was too horny and still drunk enough not to care, but aware enough of what had happened to repossess the situation. He may have been the one to initiate the share of saliva, I was now as dominative as could be, which meant totally. I think.<p>

"I want you, you crazy fucking son of a bitch."  
>We had just broken the kiss for some needed air when he dropped that bomb on me. Which stopped my lips just above his, as I was about to resume biting that skilful mouth of his.<br>Had I been sober, I would probably have overthought this. Like, wanting me but being totally flat still. Now my mind was just clear enough to give in to my physical needs, and whatever he still had on him was quickly discarded, and, drily, violently, I entered him.

His cry of pain only managed to bring a smirk to my lips, as I stopped hovering above him, watching his face contort, to plunge right to his shoulder, planting my teeth in it as I began to ram into him without restrain.  
>I only stopped biting to know if he was still in pain from the harsh pounding, and he was, breathing sharply. I probed myself on my arms again to be able to see his face.<p>

His eyes were shut tightly, but as he noticed my position change, he opened them. His gaze into mine somehow erased my smirk. There was pain, but no hate, no plead for me to stop.  
>Was he resigned? Or a masochist? Either way, he didn't have a choice, even if I wasn't one to usually top, I didn't mind releasing my primal needs this way. Only the result counted: shooting my load and ride my pleasure. And if right now I could have the added bonus of inflicting him a good amount of pain, I wouldn't deny it.<p>

I slowed down, scrutinising his face as the muscles relaxed, his breathing steadied before it let place to soft moans, quickened and finally released groans of pleasure, his hands gripping my hips tightly to pull me closer.  
>Obliging, I rammed into him the deeper I could, getting faster, pulling one of his legs up, hooked with my elbow, and as he was in an intense bliss, I let his leg go and pinched one of his nipples, hard.<br>He screamed, looking at me surprised, but the pain on his face was enough for me to reach my own peak and I pulled out of him, grabbed his hair and yanked him in direction of my dick.  
>Pressing his jaw to force his mouth open, I spurted my semen on the flat of his tongue.<p>

I pushed him away, and as he crawled on the other side of the bed, I let myself fall on my side and drifted into sleep within seconds.

Oh fuck. My head was throbbing like mad. I cracked one eye open but the light pouring out from a slit between the curtains was too much for my sight. I rolled on my back, but it met something that wasn't the mattress. Whatever it met was gone quickly, and I was forced to open my eyes for good to see what was happening.  
>Oh right, the hacker lived here now. And I had fucked him last night.<p>

BUT WHAT WAS THE BASTARD DOING IN MY BED FOR FUCK'S SAKE?!  
>I growled, but he was already on his feet, too far from my fist ready to punch, and I was hungover way too badly to stand up and chase after him, which he seemed to realise, his face going from fear to relief.<p>

He disappeared in the bathroom and I heard him rummage.  
>The little shit was probably searching for dope, and I would have to get up to bring his sorry ass back here and remind him (the hard way) that I don't do, therefore don't keep drugs in here.<br>But he was back quicker than my painful body was to stand up, and, sitting next to me on the border of the bed, he handed me a glass of water and a painkiller.

I looked at him, and there was some kind of confidence in his eyes that didn't belong here. I sent him a dark look as I grabbed the pill and the glass, swallowed both, fuming that I was in such a state. Damn wine, there must have been something else in it for this hangover to be so damn painful and body wrecking. Vodka never did that to me.  
>I gave the glass back to him.<p>

Suddenly, I felt his hand on my back, caressing it gently.  
>"Feeling better?" he asked? And there was kindness and concern in his voice. What the hell?<br>I rubbed the bridge of my nose and stood up, uncaring for my nudity.

As he landed on the floor, holding his jaw where I had punched him, blood dripping both from his lips and his hand as the glass had shattered when he fell, he looked at me, and the confidence was gone. Good.

**Matt**  
>I landed, quite gracelessly, on my ass.<p>

Well then, evidently kindness was unwelcomed. He hit hard for someone with such a hangover. I looked down at my hand, which had blood on it and was bleeding on its own. I stared at the glass that was sticking out of it, blinking.

I blinked up at the crazy bastard as he loomed over me, looking pleased with himself.

"Sorry," I said, dazed.

"We're not friends," he growled at me.

"Don't have to be someone's friend to be a decent fucking human being," I spat back. Damn my mouth— it was a mistake. He kicked me hard in the ribs to show his displeasure. I groaned and curled up, trying to keep my hand out of the way.

"I'm not decent," he said coldly. Stiff and straight and proud, he put on his leather pants and nothing else, and strode out of the room.

Leaving me alone. Again.

I sighed and uncurled and looked back at my hand. It was still bleeding quite freely, which was understandable because of the large piece of glass residing in it. I should take care of that. Carefully, I picked myself up from the floor, probing my ribs with my uninjured hand to confirm that none were broken. Just bruised, so that was good. I dragged myself to the bathroom, fairly certain that Crazy Fuck wouldn't react well to me bleeding all over his floor.

My hands were shaking. God, I needed a hit, but I didn't see it happening any time in the near future. Over the sink, I tried to grip the piece of glass between two fingers. The shaking was too bad. I let go. Stared at it.

It wasn't the most painful thing that had ever happened to me, certainly, and honestly neither was the rough sex that my body was currently reminding me of now that I had given up on my hand for the moment. And it didn't hurt that he was clearly not going to be calling me the next morning. But still, I hadn't even gotten off so the least he could do was get this glass out of my hand.

I turned on the water and rinsed my hand. It stung but if I couldn't get the glass out it was going to be the best I could do. Maybe the doctor would be here, and maybe the Lord of the Fuckers didn't lock the door behind him during his dramatic exist. Maybe I could get out of the room and go to where I had met the doctor the first time.

I sulked to the door, turning the handle slowly with my good hand to check and, lo and behold, he'd forgotten to lock it. I couldn't believe my luck. The man was a genius but apparently even he could be distracted by a hangover and a good lay.

I froze when I heard voices. One was familiar, and I hadn't been in this room long but it felt like a century and it was hard to place. I crouched, realizing belatedly that it didn't make a difference if I crouched behind a closed door or not. I didn't release the handle, worried that it would make a sound or the owners of the voices would notice the movement. It was an awkward position but I pressed my ear to the crack between the door and frame to listen for when they passed.

"-the glock," the familiar voice said. "He's dueta sleep so tonight's the night..."

Suddenly I recognized the voice. It was Tiny. And damn if what he said didn't sound sinister. I opened the door a bit more and strained to hear, but they had passed. Heart pounding, I closed the door again.

Cocaine makes people paranoid. By all means I could have heard wrong, could have jumped to conclusions. But talking about guns and people who are 'due to sleep' (which could be no one but my insane roommate) and tonight being 'The Night.' It just didn't sound good. I had to warn Mello.

It occurred to me, then, what I had just thought. Warning Crazy Fuck was the last thing I should do. If Tiny killed him tonight, I could be free tomorrow. Maybe Tiny would try to keep me, but I could outsmart him. I couldn't outsmart Mello. There was absolutely no reason at all, whatsoever, that I should think of myself as being on Mello's side. He'd made it perfectly clear that my help wasn't wanted. I had a bloody lip and glass in my hand to prove it.

With a frustrated noise, I snatched the glass and yanked it out, hissing at the pain and damage that I'd certainly done, tossing the shard to the carpet to let it stain. I wrapped my hand in my filthy shirt. No, I wouldn't tell Dickface that he was going to be betrayed tonight. I would pretend to be asleep when Tiny crept into the room, and I would even 'sleep' through the gunshot. Fuck him. Fuck all of them.

I tied the makeshift bandage tight and sat down against the bookshelf to wait.


End file.
